


Four Things That Didn't Happen to Kolyat Krios, and the One Thing He Still Did

by nugicorn



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nugicorn/pseuds/nugicorn





	1. Chapter 1

_In which Kolyat does not witness his mother's murder_

On the morning his mother was to be murdered, Kolyat Krios padded into the kitchen, stuffed varren clutched in one hand, and his opposite thumb still trying to make the pilgrimage to his mouth, though he should have stopped by now. He found his mother and father laughing over the stove, as the latter "helped" make breakfast. His father snaked an arm around her, pretending to cuddle as he snuck something extra into the pan.

Irikah laughed, slapping his hand too late. "You are doing it wrong," she complained, and then Thane leaned in and kissed her.

Watching his parents, still in pajamas and laughing with each other, Kolyat giggled; and when his mother turned, he saw a smear of _laika_ on her nose, deposited there when his father's nose had brushed against it. The original streak of batter had gotten smeared all over Thane's face, but his father didn't seem to mind.

"There's my sleepy boy," Thane said, smiling. He crouched low for Kolyat to come running into his arms.

Kolyat did, leaping the last step, even though he was already too big for this, too. Thane caught him, like he always did, and lifted him up to see the stove, settling the boy on his hip in the same, comfortable way. Just like always. Even though he knew he was too big, he still loved when his father held him like this.

"Your mother insists we don't put chocolate in _laika._ But I think we should try it. What do you think, Kol?" His voice was pretend-serious; a serious man asking an important question about how to make proper _laika._

"More chocolate!" Kolyat declared. His father had asked what to do with breakfast, and Kolyat was more than happy to answer. More chocolate, always more chocolate.

Irikah threw her hands up in frustration. "What am I to do with you two?" But after that, she kissed each of them on the forehead, and added more to the pan, turning them into chocolate-chip _laika;_ the anger was just pretend. "Go, go sit down," she told them.

"We can't sit yet," Thane said. On top he sounded reasonable, but he was teasing underneath. "There's something that needs to be done before we can sit and enjoy breakfast."

Kolyat nearly shook with the excitement. "Did it happen? Did they fall?"

"They did, in fact. You fell asleep before you could see, but I recorded it for you. A rain of stars, all across the sky. Now, what kind of presents do you think they turned into when they hit the ground?" Thane tapped one finger on Kolyat's nose.

Kolyat wriggled. "Let me see, let me see!" No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get to the floor; though his stuffed varren fell, Thane would catch his son, turn him, until he was confused and giggling.

"Thane, you are teasing too much," Irikah said mildly.

"All part of the tradition." But he set Kolyat on the ground to stumble around dizzily. "Now go, Kol, go find them all."

Laughing, Kolyat took two steps and fell, then scrambled to his feet again. Starfalls meant presents; everyone knew that. There was a starfall last night, and that meant there would be little presents hidden all around the house, from where they had fallen.


	2. Chapter 2

_In which Kolyat does not have to live with his aunt_

"Koly, come on, we're going to be late for your cousins," Irikah called down the hall.

Already dressed in his best clothes, he came as far as halfway down the hall, stubbornly refusing to give in all the way until she made it clear he had to. "Mama, why do we have to go? And why doesn't Dad have to go, too?"

Irikah paused, putting on her scarf; now a thin, sheer fabric, only a remnant of the thick wraps they used to wear to guard against dust-storms. Sunset-colored eyes looked hesitant, as if she were deciding what to tell him. "Father's working, Koly. You know that. He'll be back next week."

Kolyat sighed dramatically, heaving every bit of his frustration and don't-wanna out in a gust of air, then crumpled to the floor. "But Mama, I don't even _like_ my cousins. And Auntie Sarya is _mean."_ She _was_ mean, too. She was always saying cruel things and hurting people's feelings. Once, she'd caught Kolyat playing with a toy that wasn't his, and she'd started by asking if he was a thief. By the time she got done talking, Kolyat had been shaking and crying too much to even explain to his mother what had happened. Much as he didn't like his little cousins, they shouldn't have a mom who was so _meeeeean._

Irikah knelt next to her boy, rubbing his back. "I know. But she does not intend to be. And you cannot choose your family. Now, let's go. I promise we will not stay for long."

Sighing once more, Kolyat climbed to his feet, following his mother out the door. He'd go, but she couldn't make him enjoy it. At least it would only be a couple of hours, he reasoned; his mother would soon take him home.

He kicked his feet lightly on the drive there, not quite making contact with the dashboard. "Mama, why doesn't Sarya like Dad?"

Irikah's lips pursed. "You call her _Aunt_ Sarya, Koly. And she doesn't like him for very grown-up reasons that I will explain when you are older."

Kolyat rolled his eyes. "It's always grown-up reasons. Is grown-up reasons also why you wouldn't let me bring my toy gun? I was gonna at least play soldiers with my cousins, and now I can't do nothing."

"You mean, 'I _cannot_ do _anything,'_ Koly. And that's not true. There will be games, and toys, and frozen _kelo_ treats. You are going to enjoy yourself." She glanced over to him. "Straighten up, please. You are wrinkling your clothing."

Wriggling up higher in his seat, Kolyat pouted. She hadn't answered him about the guns. He pooched his lower lip out, wondering whether he should ask again. _I think she doesn't answer me on purpose, too._

_Well, she can make me go, but she can't make me have a good time._


	3. Chapter 3

_In which Kolyat is not told by his aunt about his father's work_

Kolyat sat with his cousin Mariyah, both eating their _kelo_ while the adults talked. They had been chatting, but a five-year-old girl held little interest for him, and his forays into conversation had been just as boring to her, it would seem. _If I could have brought guns, she might be a little more fun._ They lapsed into silence before long, half-listening to the grownups.

"He won't turn out well."

Kolyat straightened up, listening; this sounded interesting, finally.

"Sarya, stop it." His mother sounded tired, the way she did when she'd told Kolyat many times to do one chore, and he wasn't listening.

"Bad blood," Aunt Sarya muttered to Irikah. "Bad blood, bad seed."

Kolyat turned, and he saw his mother's face pale, her lips pressed thin in anger.

"Little birds can hear you, sister." Irikah got up. "We are going now." She took Kolyat by the hand, marching him away from Aunt Sarya's house; Kolyat's young legs struggled to keep up with his mother's angry strides.

Kolyat pondered his aunt's words the entire way home, long after his frozen _kelo_ was finally gone. What did she mean by bad blood? Was someone sick? Was someone's blood going to make them die? He didn't want to go to a funeral. He had never been, and he was scared of dead bodies.

He didn't ask until much later that night, yawning through the words as Irikah tucked him. "Mama, what did Auntie Sarya mean by bad blood?"

His mother looked sad at that, eyes closing. "Koly, you have to remember he did not have a choice in what he did. He was sold into the Compact, so the hanar could make of him what they will." She brushed a hand across his forehead.

Kolyat didn't know what she was talking about, but her hand felt nice; cool and comforting.

"There … there are sometimes very bad people in the world, and Father's job … Father is like a soldier, Koly, only instead of fighting on a battlefield, he only fights one person at a time."

_Father kills people? That's his job?_ Kolyat's mouth dropped open in surprise, but stayed open in a wide yawn. He could barely keep his eyes open, but Mother looked like she was going to say something else; her mouth flopped around like a fish out of water, but finally she shook her head, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"It is not by his choice, Koly. It was the only thing he was trained for. And he earns good money, to keep us clothed and fed. He only does it for us." She sighed deeply, looking grieved. "It is not even him, not really. He is a weapon; he fires where they point him. And Aunt Sarya is _wrong,_ Koly. We made sure you would never be sold into the Compact. You will get to be anything you want when you grow up. All right?"

Kolyat hardly heard her anymore; full of _kelo_ and having spent too much time with cousins, he found himself too sleepy already to think about all this. "Okay, Mama." It was good to know he wouldn't be made into a killer against his will, he supposed. If that's what Mother was explaining.

Later, Kolyat woke, padding to the bathroom on silent feet. He began to think about the implications of "Bad blood, bad seed," and all that his mother had said … was Father truly a killer? A soldier sent to go get the bad guys? Once he'd crept back to bed, he pulled the blankets up to his chin and worried his lip, wondering if he could possibly be remembering that correctly. He lay awake, wrestling with these troubling thoughts until daylight had snuck into his room, when he fell back into a thin sleep. It wasn't until much, much later that it occurred to him that he might turn out to be a killer after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_ In which Thane does not choose to abandon Kolyat _

  
  


Kolyat lay on his bed, sulking.  He turned up his music to drown out his parents’ fighting.  Ululating voices backed by strong, angry instruments filled his consciousness, blocking out the rest.   _ Everyone fights, _ his mother kept telling him.

 

He was certain not everybody fought like this, screaming and throwing things.  What had happened?  They had been so happy and quiet when he was little.

 

Distress roiled in his stomach, making him curl up against the pain.  Turning the music up again, he fell asleep, waking hours later when his music player died.  

 

The house stood silent.  Whatever his parents had been fighting about— _ again _ —they must have settled it by now.  Kolyat’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d been too upset to eat dinner before.  Nor had he wanted to go into the kitchen while they were still at it.  Checking his clock, he saw it was the middle of the night.  No wonder they’d stopped.  He was just lucky they hadn’t given him shit about his music being so loud all night.

 

_ Why can’t they ever fight at a reasonable time?  Why always start in the afternoons and go right through supper? _  He clomped down the stairs, stopping in shock when he saw his parents.  The chill hit him from all the way across the room, emanating from his mother, who used to have such a kind face, an even tone that reassured even as it corrected.

 

Kolyat shivered.  Her tone hadn’t been calm tonight, and the look on her face was stone.

 

They sat at opposite ends of the table, as far away from each other as they could get in the same room.  Mother sat with her arms crossed, her face cold.  Father looked up as Kolyat came into the kitchen, a look of weary grief on his face.

 

“Kol—”  Father’s voice broke, so he cleared his throat, tried again.  “Kolyat, your mother and I … we’ve decided to take a little break.  I’ll ….”  He mouth kept moving, but he didn’t finish the sentence.  Maybe couldn’t.

 

_ Has he been crying?  What did you do to him, now? _  He glared at his mother, rage burning in him.  He knew it was her fault.  Wasn’t it always?  Always sniping at him, blaming him for everything.  It wasn’t his fault Father was an assassin, she’d said so herself.  But the moment she’d changed her mind, he was supposed to just stop?

 

“Your father is moving out,” Irikah said.  The words came out like rocks falling into the dirt.

 

“No!” Kolyat yelled.  The scream tore its way out of his throat, even as his mother’s words tore at his heart.   _ No, he can’t leave me here. _  “You’re not doing this, you viper!  I’ll go with him.”

 

“Kolyat.”  His father’s voice stayed low, but the command in it was undeniable.  “You will not speak to your mother this way.”

 

_ Why is he still defending her? _  “Dad, it’s not fair.  If she wants to be like that,  _ she _ can leave.”  He kicked a chair, sending it sliding across the kitchen floor.

 

Irikah didn’t move, but his dad got up, moving slowly and carefully.  His posture was unnaturally perfect, as if he were compensating for some injury somewhere.

 

_ Gee, I wonder why? _

 

Thane came around the table to put his hands on his son’s trembling shoulders.  “No, Kolyat.  Your mother is right, about a lot of things.  You’re going to stay here with her.”  His voice kept cracking, sounding like the words kept cutting him, too sharp to hold in his mouth.

 

_ Why is she being so cruel? _  Dad was loyal, Dad would never have left.  He’d always supported them.  It was all her fault.  “Don’t leave,” he begged.

 

Thane held him tight, whispering apologies for leaving, and promising they would see each other soon.  Kolyat felt hot tears burning at his closed lids: shame for having begged, and grief that it hadn’t worked.

 

When Irikah sighed, his dad pulled back from him.  He looked utterly defeated for a moment, shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow; Kolyat only ever saw him looking like that after she’d sunk her poison fangs into him, and never so bad.

 

Then Thane straightened and picked up his suitcase from by the door— _ already packed?  You made him pack before even letting me know you were throwing him out? _ —and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

Irikah stood easily, smoothing her gown over her hips, then reached for his hand.  “I know this is difficult, Koly—”

 

Kolyat yanked his hand away; her touch was poison, and he knew it.  “Don’t.  Don’t say a thing, I’m never going to forgive you for this!”  He stomped up the stairs, slammed his bedroom door, and flung himself on the bed.  He wanted to run, to follow, but he knew they’d never let that happen.  Irikah would get the authorities in on it, and his father wouldn’t stand against them.  He’d be dragged back in disgrace, and he’d still have to live with Irikah.  

 

Kolyat stretch to turn on his music, twisting the volume up as loud as it could go, trying to drown out the voice telling him  _ run.  Go anyway.  You can’t stay here, so catch up before it’s too late. _


	5. Chapter 5

_In which Kolyat does it anyway_

  
  


Kolyat wove through the crowds on the Citadel, keeping his eyes on his target.  Turian.  Tall motherfuckers, easy to track in a crowd.  After this was done, he would have to move quickly.  But if he moved too quickly, his father wouldn’t be able to find him.  How to make sure he was gone before the authorities caught up, without making it impossible for his dad to locate him?

 

_You’ll figure it out later.  Right now, you need to focus on what you’re doing._

 

His hand touched his pistol through the coat, making sure it was still there.  He knew he had to pay attention.  The turian bastard had bodyguards; if he wasn’t careful, he ran the risk of getting shot himself.

 

But he hadn’t seen his father in three years.  It was difficult to think about anything but that.  Especially when he had only just found out his mother was lying about him not keeping in contact.  

 

He touched the tiny carved figurine from Rakhana that he’d slipped into his pocket.  Back in his rented room, Kolyat had an entire box of little gifts shoved under the bed.  All things his dad had sent over the last couple of years.  Things she’d taken away.

 

Like she took his father away.

 

Ahead of him, the turian disappeared into a building, and Kolyat picked up his pace.  If he lost him, he might not get another chance.  It was supposed to be tonight, and he had to do this correctly.

 

When the turian appeared again, Kolyat breathed a sigh of relief.  The turian and both hired krogan turned, this time heading into an apartment complex.  There were no crowds, here.

 

_This is my chance._

 

He raised his weapon to fire.

 

_“Kolyat!”_ someone screamed.

 

He flinched; it sounded just like his mother.  He fired, but missed his target.  And now the turian was ducking, running.  The krogan had their weapons out, ready to kill him.

 

_Had to ruin just one more thing, didn’t you, Irikah?_ Kolyat snarled to himself.

 

He quickly dropped both the krogan, painful knee shots to put them on the ground.  They’d get up again, but he only needed a moment; he sprinted in after the turian, boots tracking through the krogan blood.

 

“On your knees,” Kolyat growled.

 

Hurried footsteps behind him as the turian dropped to the floor, hands already on his long, sweeping crest.  Kolyat moved quickly, positioning himself behind the turian.   _Tall motherfucker’s good for something._  They wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot.

 

The people chasing him burst into the room, and Kolyat finally got a glimpse of them.  Some redheaded bitch he didn’t know, followed closely by ….

 

“Dad?” Kolyat whispered.

 

“Kolyat, please.  Let him go.  Put the gun down.”  Thane Krios, looking older and much more tired than the last time he saw him.  Thane Krios, with his voice trembling and his hands up, pleading.

 

Thane Krios, a broken man.

 

_My mother did this to him._  Years of rage had burned to nothing but embers by now, and he couldn’t feel it anymore.  He had hoped to find his father, not some … shell.

 

_I was too late.  I’m sorry, Father._  Grief, he could feel.  The gun grew heavy in his hand, sagging down, away from a kill shot.  What was the point?  He’d found his father, but his father wasn’t there anymore.

 

Her gun trained on him, the redhead spoke, his mother’s voice lecturing him from that pink human mouth.  “You don’t want to do this, Kolyat.”

 

As she spoke, Thane flinched, and Kolyat knew not to listen.

 

The gun snapped back up as if of its own accord, the turian crying out as it dug into the sensitive spot under his crest.  

  
_I won’t let you do it to me, too,_ Kolyat thought, and he pulled the trigger.


End file.
